Bruises
by theangelgabrielle
Summary: Some bruises just don't seem to heal... Life for the Connors, including stubborn Derek and cyborg Cameron, has fallen into place. Of course, everything is tipped sideways when John's daughter from the future arrives, with an agenda all to herself.
1. I: Threat Level

**Disclaimer: **_Don't own._

**Warnings: **_Lots of swearing, and some mature themes. If you're a Terminator fan, you can probably handle it._

Bruises

**-I-**

**In His Image**

* * *

_So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female created he them. _

Genesis 1:27

* * *

Chapter One: Threat Level

She had been born in the throes of a doomed era, where monsters with glass eyes and plastic skin weren't always monsters. Now, she found herself, nude and alone, on the middle of an empty city street. Of course, it wasn't entirely empty. A Nissan here, a gang banger there. She lept from the scene and scurried behind the coverage of the pine trees so quickly, though, that most of them shook her image from their minds. She was a figment of their overactive, drug-fueled imaginations. She was most definitely _not _real.

Oh, but she was.

Her flaxen hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. The cut of her locks was choppy, unprofessional. She didn't look like she'd visited an honest-to-God, hair-dryer-and-pomade hair dresser in ages. Rather, she looked like a child who'd been born so far in the past that a doting mother had to give her a trim instead. In actuality, she was from so far in the future that there was no around but a doe-eyed robot-monster to.

Scars, bruises and various nicks ran up and down her legs, curled around her waist and breasts, and grew, like jungle vines, up her white neck. A prominent scar that had faded to a dull pink twisted over the bridge of her nose and wound up on her other cheek.

In the moonlight, she shivered.

_Before_ she'd left home, John had told her to be careful. Not only could she end up dead, she could do things to the very fabric of time that a girl of her age could not understand. John, scarred and stoic, but the John she'd always known, gave her a frosty kiss on the forehead and feed her several last lines of advice. She nodded, understanding. Her problem was not as John thought. It was not that she knew too little, but that she could comprehend far too much.

She was John Connor's daughter. She had the war marks of a Resistance fighter and the rosy cheeks of an innocent. She was misery and beauty and the kind of complicated, train wreck disaster that made everyone stop and stare. She had come from the future - to stop herself from ever being born.

--

In the Connor household, or rather the _Baum _household, sixteen-year-old John stirred awake. Even as a teenager, he'd had the natural senses of a fighter. He was often the first to wake up - besides Cameron, who didn't understand the purpose of sleep - and usually the last to go to bed unless one of Derek's old favourite shows was on. As much as Sarah liked to pretend she was an unbreakable stone tower, she still slept in later than most; even the futuristic Terminators that haunted her dreams were better than the oh-to-real ones who preyed on the city streets.

John pulled an old t-shirt over his head, barely looking at the design it bore. None of the typical teenage problems really plagued him. Sure, he worried about girls sometime and, yes, he was in danger of failing AP English if he didn't get his act together, but the problems he had were more along the lines of saving humanity from impending doom. He let out a sigh. _Why can't I just be normal? _

It was not the first time he'd thought this and it would, in no way, be the last. Still, it was a nice dream. Quickly, John finished dressing for the day. He let his fingers trail over the recently-shorn dark hair that was growing out at a more rapid pace than he'd used to have to pull a comb through his messy tendrils. Now, there was nothing left to comb. Of course, he wasn't melancholy to have the hair go; it was a hindrance and Cameron's confusion only grew exponentially whenever he played with it, lazily.

Cameron had informed the family - a disgruntled Sarah, an enraged Derek and a typically bored-out-of-his-mind John - that she would be on patrol all night, every night. Sarah agreed that it was a good idea, she said the quiet was killing her. Derek quickly agreed as well, though everyone knew it was only because he hated Cameron, as he did all the metal warriors.

That was why John didn't find it strange to hear the odd crunching of a fallen leaf; sure, Cameron was engineered to be as silent as silence itself; when you weren't staring at her, it sometimes felt like she wasn't in the room at all, but that didn't mean that she couldn't make a little noise.

There it was, again. A...rustling? Like paper being filed. John's piercing green eyes lifted from the simple carpeted floor towards the window. He first saw a pair of ripped jeans - and knees poking through the holes. _Riley. _

Half smiling dopily and half kind of pissed off that he'd been woken for nothing - _Well, I shouldn't say 'nothing,' we have been going 'steady' for two weeks now _- he went to the window and slid it open. Riley, blond, mad-at-the-world, sarcastic Riley. She waved and smiled in a way that melted some of the ice covering John's well-protected heart - just some.

"Hey, stranger," Riley greeted, adding a peck on the lips for good luck. "Long time, no make-out."

"Eloquent way to put it." John grinned; it was hard not to. Riley was pretty great. Sure, she was no high school sweetheart, but that was the best thing about her. She wasn't always pulling on his sleeve, whimpering for more. She treasured the time she spent with him, but in no way seemed sad when their eventual parting would take place. That was always how it was. John dismissed her, like a straight-A pupil, and she happily obliged, not even asking about next time.

"I try." A flash of a smile. Her blond waves were spilling over the old band tee and zip-up she wore, as per usual. She was really kind of pretty; not beautiful or hot. Pretty. Something in her forgiving eyes, he thought.

"Good to know." John looked down at his choice of ensemble - he wasn't exactly dressed up. He wasn't still in his sleepwear. He'd exchanged the ratty tee for an off-white thermal not long ago, and his jeans were (mostly) clean, but... To say he wasn't expecting his girlfriend to show up was the understatement of the pre-Judgement Day millennium.

"So." Riley flopped on the bed. "What's up?"

--

His house. It was right there. She wasn't nude any longer, having broken in to a cute two-storey - suburbia was fantastic; no locked doors - and slipped into a peach-coloured ribbed tank and cutoff shorts that no one would miss. Her hair was also swept into a high bun, the hair tie having been 'borrowed' from the girl who would find several items of close missing soon enough. She liked to call her current hairstyle 'artfully messy,' though a 'controlled rat's nest' was also a personal favourite.

Her green eyes - _his_ green eyes _-_ did a quick scan of the parameter for potential threats: nothing. It was true that she was no Terminator. She wasn't like Cameron, Daddy's favourite, or the other too-perfect-to-be-real cyborgs that were always walking around the camp, prepared for anything. A lot of people, even the Connors' most ardent supporters, were against his use of 'metalheads' as makeshift soldiers. Whenever someone expressed their dislike, he deadpanned, "Can't beat 'em, reprogram 'em." If it didn't make them understand his ways, it at least shut them up for a while.

"What's your business here?" The cool kiss of metal - a gun - on the arch of her back. She almost smiled. This was a familiar situation. She couldn't count on her hands or feet the amount of times she'd been kidnapped, tortured, or held at gunpoint. What better way to get at the Resistance leader than through his daughter? Sometimes, the newest, smartest batch of Terminators snatched her, more often than not it was a scorned soldier or someone who lost everything during the events of 2011.

"Cam," she said, smiling. She turned gracefully, even though her feet were killing her - it wasn't advised to shove size-nine feet into size-seven ankle socks. She hadn't risked taking shoes; it was far too obvious. "Pleasure to see you again."

The gun didn't waver. "I do not know you." She tried to picture how Cam, John's beloved Cam, would see her. Would some kind of scanner be showing 'Unknown Human'? Would a simple bar graph show 'Threat Level: LOW'?

"Not this you, maybe. But another you." The teenage girl, with a Glock now digging into her chest, squirmed. "A future you," she explained patiently. Just like the girl figured, the TOK 715's hold on her gun was unshakable. She expected nothing less.

Slowly, she felt the pressure release. A quick glance down proved Cam really had, indeed, withdrawn her weapon. The blonde smiled tightly, no teeth, all business. "Now, I need to see John."

Looking distraught, Cameron began with a forceful, "I can not let you do that."

--

John watched, a lump expanding in his throat, as Riley attempted seduction. It was rather...painful to watch. She was the antithesis of a girlie-girl and wiggling out of a Nirvana circa _Nevermind _tee, probably her brother's was anything but sexy. In fact, 'awkward' would've been the best definition of the act. Clumps of blond hair hung in front of her face as she pulled one arm successfully through the old tee. Slowly, with a grimace on her face, she began to work on the other arm.

"Ry - maybe this...isn't the best time," John surmised, watching his girlfriend with a bemused expression on his face. He was sitting on his bed, she was standing up. John wondered if she'd only came for an early-morning booty call.

Lips pouted, Riley, blond, sarcastic, outsider Riley, pulled her shirt back on effortlessly. "Fine," she huffed. "Fine. Another time, then." Smoothing the worn fabric of her shirt, Riley shot him one last half-smirk before she started to open the window. Riley wasn't exactly graceful and watching her huff and puff and fruitlessly attempt to blow the house down as her slippery fingers worked the heavy, bulletproof glass made John want to laugh out loud. Instead, playing the Good Guy, he walked over to her and slid it up.

"Thanks," she mumbled, obviously not meaning it. He watched the blonde go, watched her less-than-smooth movements as she did the Spiderman routine down the side of the house. He'd already flicked on his laptop when he heard Cameron's voice and that of another girl - _Riley, maybe? _

When the sixteen-year-old dashed over to the still open window, he found himself not watching another painful conversation between 'his sister' and Riley, but rather a tussle with Cameron and an unknown blonde. He knew that the girl wasn't Riley. Even though her back was to him and her hair was about the same colour, texture and length as his girlfriend's, her short-shorts and tank top wouldn't fly with Riley's unpopular-just-because style. Also, said blonde's feet were bare. Socked, but shoeless.

Strange. Then again, when was anything normal with the Connor family?


	2. I: Safe Distance

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. **

Chapter Two: Safe Distance

John's fingers tightened around the knife he always kept in his pocket. It wasn't very sharp - he didn't want to tear a hole in the fabric of his jeans - but it was really more for intimidation purposes. Being known at school as the guy who may or may not carry a weapon was always good. It meant the hardcores had a silent respect for him and the wannabes stayed away.

Readying himself, John pulled the knife from his pocket. He found the tip pointed towards a blond, pale-skinned girl in clothes that didn't quite fit her. Her denim shorts were too tight, her tank top too loose. Noticing how young she looked, he lowered the knife slightly. If the sight of a weapon - _another _weapon, he mentally corrected, eyeing Cameron's Glock - fazed her she didn't show it. Besides the frown lines on her forehead, the girl looked strangely calm.

When she spotted him, her mouth popped open. At first he assumed it was just genuine surprise. Then, he soon realized, she wanted to say something. She _really_ wanted to say something. Her lips pursed again, the words lost forever. Her light eyes darted back to Cameron. John noticed the girl didn't stare at the killing machine - _he meant the gun - _that was pointed at her forehead. She didn't seem to mind or care that with a slight thumb movement, she'd be dead in an instant. Instead, the girl's eyes bore into Cameron's own.

"Cam," the girl breathed, moving her palms into an I-surrender gesture. "I know you don't know me, but _I know you. _In the future. In the fight to stop Skynet." At those words, John felt his pathetic knife fall to the ground. It was almost like everything was moving in slow motion. The silver piece of metal sculpted into John's personal protection device dripped out of his long fingers like a single drop of water from a faucet. _The future? Skynet?_

Was she...another one? One of Cameron's...'_sisters'? _So many questions, but - by the determined look on the time traveller's face - it didn't look like any answers were coming their way soon. John assumed that simply by the fact that Cameron wasn't involved with any robot limb-to-robot limb combat, that this girl was human. An innocent sucked into a battle no one as young as them deserved. Just like him.

John stepped closer, feeling the crush of dewy grass under his skate shoe.

Cameron, while not looking at him, frowned. It was amazing how she'd learned to adapt to social situations - even bizarre ones like the scene they were currently playing out - and act as if she was an actual human being. Her face taut, the cyborg muttered - _muttered, unfuckingbelieveable - _"Remain a safe distance away, John."

"I'll do what I want." Steely determination evident on his features, John walked up to the girl. He didn't bother glancing at Cameron to gauge her reactions. Usually he got a kick out of her mimicking anguish as the actors did on the soap operas she loved so, or, watching her grimace when the teacher mentioned homework. Today? This morning? John wasn't in the mood for laughter or Cameron's antics.

He almost expected a huffed "Fine, then," to come in return. Instead, there was the absolute silence that only a terminator could keep. He sighed, nervously rubbing his palms together like one might to warm up. He gave a smile for the unsmiling, straight-faced girl. "What's your name? I'm John."

"I know," she said, altogether too quickly not to creep him out. Catching her fault, she tacked on a sorry attempt at a smile. Softly, like a whispered lullaby, she added, "_Eden._"

"Nice name," he commented, not really meaning it - her name was okay, he supposed, weirdly biblical though.

When her eyes finally met his, John had to take a step back. Those eyes... They were the ones he found himself looking into every morning, when he was looking in a mirror. "You should think so," Eden said darkly, "you named me."

--

If you were to ask Cameron, she'd say that 'approximately' _twenty-two minutes, thirteen seconds, and fifty-one nanoseconds _had passed since John Connor, genius that he supposedly was, had deduced that a) the world was officially screwed up beyond repair and b) this chick, this _Eden _character, was his daughter.

John was leaning up against the cupboards. They were old, probably in need of some paint or stain or whatever it was you used on imitation wood, but they were sturdy and cheap and inconspicious little things so Sarah liked them. Eden, blond hair in need of a good brushing, sat cross-legged on a proper chair. Her manners were less than ideal. Was the future really _that bad_? Was there no metal imitation of Miss Manners milling about the post-2011 world?

Sarah, bleary-eyed and still wet-haired from a hasty shower, stood before her _granddaughter_, trying to - alternately - absorb information for the tentative time line in her crowded mind, get to know this enigmatic girl, and, as Cameron had done earlier, asses her threat level. Currently, Eden was resting just above Low. She knew too much - there was a potential for disaster in knowledge.

As for Derek, the disgruntled male found himself sitting across from Eden. He was sitting there in silent contemplation. Everyone figured he was upset because he couldn't remember Eden. The girl kept repeating that she was from "a different future." She meant that she was born after Derek left for the past.

Eden gripped a chipped World's Best Mom mug, filled with black coffee ("_Oh, please, I don't need anything special in it_.") in her pale fingers. A hank of wavy hair hung in her eyes. She was too aware of Sarah's eyes on hers'. Many times, back home, she'd been told how beautiful her eyes were. Of course, these were useless compliments thrown whilst cocking a gun or stitching up wounds. By now, Eden had been given a pair of Sarah's old, faded pyjamas. Simple, flannel pants and a matching button-up top. They were off-yellow and hardly flattering, but better than stolen clothes.

"So." Eden fiddled with the sleeves of her borrowed top. "Is it just me or is this really, really weird?"

Sarah cracked a rare smile, placing her hand delicately on Eden's frail shoulder. "No, it's just you."

John, as well, smiled, barking out a harsh laugh. At this, Eden swivelled her head and stared in awe at him. John gulped, brushing his chin with his thumb. 'Weird' didn't even begin to cover it. Cameron, too, smiled. Hers was fake, scary even. Dimples were none were supposed to be. As for Derek? He merely grunted and said, "Yeah, right."

"So," Derek finally said, after another long, hard beat. "What's this future-future of yours' like, kiddo?"

Eden's whole face seemed to change. She was a quiet girl and her every action was soft, yet deliberate. Now, she looked like a trained assassin prepping for war. "Worse than yours, by far. The resistance is still going, John's still leader." Looking at him for a quick moment, she added, off-hand, "A very good one, too. The machines have almost taken over and, yet, we're still growing. We have a camp, underground. Women and children live there. We've managed to wrangle a couple of do-gooder doctors for prenatal care and more complex stuff. For the most part, soldiers fix themselves up."

John's muscles stiffened. The picture she painted was hardly wondrous.

"It's not without hope, though. But, besides that, and war, there's nothing else." Eden's eyes flashed. "Everything else is gone. Wiped away. Just memories, most forgotten."

--

That night, Eden slept in a warm bed. Besides her birth and the hour the Doctor had allowed her Mom to use the bed for afterwards, Eden Connor had never slept in a bed before. She usually spent her nights, eyes wide open and alert, on a bare mattress. Often, she listened to Cameron recount stories she'd had memorized or Eden would just work on sewing up clothes for the soldiers. Derek, in particular, was always ripping his stuff.

Eden's hair had been brushed by a particularly motherly Sarah, who had cooed of fairies and castles and pink tulle. It was strange, to say the least. Hearing sweet nothings and happily ever afters from a hardened soldier. Even if Eden had never met her paternal grandmother, the odd time she spent in John's company, he stressed that she was a good person, a fine mother and an outstanding fighter.

The blonde, too skinny, too smart, too shy for someone her age, is all alone in this world. It's worse than everyone said it would be. No one remembers her. She's the sole keeper of a world where war is an in-your-face problem. Where there isn't any schooling and any healthy teenager can qualify to join Connor's army. Anyone, save of course for the resistance leader's own daughter, can join. Can fight. As she laid there, still alone, Eden shook her head.

Sometimes, when the nights were particularly cold and there was nothing - or no one - to sew up, Eden just stayed awake and contemplated. Cameron, who never slept, had taught her well. How to run around all day on an hour or two of sleep. Eden had heard tale of a mystical, magical thing called coffee. Inside of the sacred black elixir, there was a chemical called caffeine that made you jumpy. Once, when she was five or six, a soldier named Tracey had brought home a bag of coffee beans. Low-grade and cheap, but John clapped the man on the back and said "Thank you," so earnestly that Eden knew the Connors had been given a special gift.

In the future, Eden wasted most of her days at Cameron's side. When the battle came closer to home, Eden was shuffled off into a special chamber - John's special chamber - and told to shut up, not breathe, and never move until someone came and got her. Even though the resistance saw John as a loving, doting father, the reality was that he was more of a father to his men, his soldiers, than he was to his own daughter. Her mother was out of the picture and since John was always busy with something or another - not that she could really blame him, he _was_ trying to save the world after all - Cameron was the one who took care of Eden.

Abruptly, Eden sat up. She crossed her legs, Indian-style, and heaved a sigh. _Don't get too attached. _John's words. _Don't say too much of the future, or, at least, leave them with hope. _John's words. _Don't mess up. _John's words.

_Stop yourself from being born. _

Eden's own words.

She just had to figure out how to make them reality.

--

_2:35 _was what John's radio-alarm clock screamed at him in angry, red block numbers. He almost scowled at it, but held back. With an easy lift of his legs, John kicked the blankets off of him. He was tired, sure. But he was more interested in seeing that girl again... _His daughter_. It was too bizarre. Sometimes, he wished that there was no time-travelling technology in the future. It messed everything up. It sent back evil machines with glowing eyes and blond-haired daughters with glazed-over stares.

The teenage boy propelled out of bed. He couldn't help but be reminded of his last good night's sleep. He'd been woken by his reverse Rapunzel, who'd come to do her sad attempt at a striptease. It hadn't been enjoyable for either of them. Then, of course, he'd been further interrupted by Cameron's face-off with Eden.

Now, Riley was gone - she was probably in her basement, at home, blasting zombie brains on video games to release her anger - but Eden was still there. In Cameron's room, hopefully asleep.

John walked out of the room, careful to avoid the scattered objects laying on his bedroom floor. He found a pair of socks, unfolded but relatively clean, and slid them over his bare feet. His hair was mussed from the few hours of sleep he got, but his new short style looked better in the morning than his old, long locks had. He sighed and exited his bedroom.

The sixteen-year-old smoothly navigated the upper-level hallway. He passed Sarah's room, where he swore he heard a sound emanating - TV or radio, maybe - and the bathroom, until he came to Cam's. The door was closed, airtight. He nudged it, jimmying the knob. It popped open. He ducked inside, his head first, followed closely by the rest of his long, lean body. He'd never been much for sports, but, unbeknown to the rest of the household, he'd tried out for the cross country team and made it, easily. He was careful never to win first place and would make sure he didn't qualify for statewide, but it was still quietly thrilling to be the team's underdog. He was making friends. Slowly, but surely.

Was the old John - the pre-Cameron-going-nuts John - rearing his head?

When he spotted her, his daughter, tangled up in airy cotton sheets, his heart panged. Her blond hair was unbelievably messy, knots abound. Her lips - chapped, dry - were parted, leaving her mouth open. She wore Sarah's bedclothes, that didn't quite fit her.

Still, the sight made John smile. He edged closer to the bed, stretching his fingers. Even asleep, she looked frightened. _Nightmares? _He'd once been plagued by them, too. He wanted to brush her hair, stroke her cheek, fix her problems. Even if she was only a couple years younger than him physically, she was still his. His daughter. _His. _

Her green eyes opened.


	3. I: Growing and Learning

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. **

**Warning: Strong language. I.e. the f-bomb. But it's Derek, so what'd you expect? **

**A/N: **The plot will get moving now. Thanks for your patience and reviews. :D Monday's episode was inspiring so there's some J/C stuff going on, but it won't be the focus of the story. _It should be noted that this story does not follow s2._

Chapter Three: Growing and Learning

The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, with accents of unadulterated ivory fluffs and a golden orb directly in line of sight. Eden loitered outside. A cup of coffee - crappy-tasting because she'd made it herself - rested against her lower lip. She'd caught John in her room last night. It was strange to see this John. So different in some ways from the father she knew, and yet, so alike. They were both unpredictable piles of angst and misery.

Still in Sarah's faded pyjamas, Eden Connor was an peace. Even though she'd seen terrible things, been tortured and beaten and kidnapped and raped - everything in the book, John had instilled his teachings in her, too. In some ways, his men were merely cult members, caught up in his web. Eden was, too. In a way. He kept letting her down, and she kept crawling back, to the only home she'd ever known.

So she would take comfort in the past. In being taken care of. Until, of course, the day came that she would have to sit John Connor, sixteen, down and tell him that he could never, ever be with the woman he loved. Because, if he held her, if she took his name and gave birth to a baby girl who would come to be known as Eden Sarah Patience Connor, lots of terrible things would happen to that baby. She'd be a victim in every sense of the word. Even if that wasn't her father's intention - her mission, if you will - for returning to the past, Eden figured that not existing would be better than existing in such a terrible future.

Eden fluffed up her ratty mess of golden tangles and ambled over to the lone-standing wicker chair by the porch of the house the Connors were renting. It was chilly outside, but there wasn't any frost or black ice. The wonder of living in California. Of course, the future California wasn't snow-covered, either. It was just cold in the sense that you couldn't walk down the street and see bubbly, busty blondes grinning from ear-to-ear, hoping that some talent scout would pick them out of a crowd.

"Hi, are you..." a woman's wary voice asked. The sound of heavy footsteps startled Eden, whose eyes widened - machines? Here, now? Of course, the sleek, once-human body of a machine was not what she saw. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of a heavily pregnant woman. The woman, blond strands coming loose from her less-than-chic updo, wore an embellished tank top and a bohemian skirt that had a bright floral print. Her swollen feet were stuffed into old flip-flops, that looked to be about size ten or eleven, at least.

"Are you a friend of the family's?" she asked, tilting her head towards the front door and thus sending her loose waves tumbling down the front of her tank.

"Sort of," Eden answered, knowing her voice was too raspy and hardened for someone who was thirteen. Well, technically her age was in the negatives. "I'm John's cousin."

--

"Cousin, huh?" Sarah asked, idly closing the half-empty fridge with her hip. She took a seat at the small kitchen table, across from her only son, who didn't bother to hide his scowl.

"Yeah, my _cousin._" John's tone oozed distaste. It was weird for him already. Getting used to another girl in the house, especially one who just so happened to be his daughter from the future. He was wearing a black pullover sweater and plain-front pants. It looked like a comb had been run through his hair, even. He looked suspiciously dressed-up. A date with Riley?

Sarah remembered that John was doing of some sort of debate in English today. She also remembered who John would be debating - one Katrina Collins. Katrina was the secretary of the Student Council, was dating a running back on the football team and was widely considered too smart for her own good. It was also common knowledge that John and Katrina _loathed _each other. She hated him for his lack of caring about school. And he hated her because she cared too much.

"I got her papers over the weekend," Sarah said. She placed an apple on a cutting board, but rather than reach for a knife, she merely let her eyes glaze over at the explosion of reds, greens, and oranges in the fruit. "Not quite as slick as I'd have liked, but it's short notice, so they'll have to do."

"Great." The look in his eyes told Sarah that her son really didn't care. She shook her head, finally snapping out of her semi-trance and producing a too-large, too-sharp knife. Instantly the apple was cut into even, perfect slices.

"I made her a lunch." Sarah let her eyebrows drift over to the direction of a crumpled paper bag. "Did you want one?"

John made a move to leave the table, half-heartedly picking up his bowl of untouched sugar-coated cereal. He felt Sarah's eyes on the back of his neck as he washed out the milk and flung the flakes of cereal into the compost bin. It was quite unlike Sarah to be making lunches or getting papers done so quickly. If John didn't know any better, he would think she was trying to overcompensate since she knew that, in Eden and Derek's timeline, Sarah would be dead of cancer and not in her granddaughter's life at all.

"No," he answered after a beat. "I'm fine, I'll just skip lunch." Sarah shot him a disapproving look and, for a minute there, he wondered if she would actually say something like '_Future leaders of mankind need their nutrients!_' but, thankfully, she left it at that. His mother walked away soon there after, massaging her temples and muttering something John couldn't make out. He figured it involved his name and a couple choice curses.

Cameron ambled into the room, smacking her lips loudly. John turned from where he was running icy water over his hands to identify the sound. _Cameron. _Dressed in some short little skirt and pink top, with her makeup all done, the surrogate sister of the Connor family would definitely be getting a second look at school that day. Usually, she was all about beat-up leather jackets, skintight black jeans and wifebeaters. The strangest thing about her that day was her hair: Cameron's russet-coloured hair was center-parted and put into two slick braids.

"Eden braided my hair," the machine said in her oh-so-Cameron way. "And painted my toenails, _see_?" The brunette wiggled her long toes which were already stuffed into ankle socks and sneakers. When John gave her a bemused look, she added, with a _duh_ expression, "It's what girls do."

He shook his head wryly and gave his sister one last look before turning away from her. Instead of hearing her wooden movements as he usually did - _Cameron stomping over to the table, Cameron stuffing one or two spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth, Cameron pushing her chair back, Cameron rinsing her plate - _John found Cameron hovering over his shoulder. She kept smacking her lips and John couldn't help but notice little differences about her - her eyelids were brushed with a sparkly peach colour, her lips were red like poppies in early spring, and her eyelashes were abnormally long and full. Not that he minded.

"Stop it, Cam," he chastised absentmindedly. He could feel the tired, abused muscles in his back and legs stiffen when she went silent. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Cameron, unblinking, with her lips parted slightly. Cameron was growing and learning and John wasn't sure he liked this. Seduction wasn't something a machine really needed.

--

John would be leaving for school momentarily. As the tension at home was building, John had been consistently waking up earlier and earlier. Derek praised him for this. Even though the hardened soldier never woke up before nine, being an early riser was merely a mark of a good leader in his mind. He'd stuffed textbooks into his plain black knapsack at random, not bothering to check his schedule for the day so he would know what to bring. It didn't really matter. He never handed in day-to-day homework, but he gave half-assed attempts on projects and aced every test so his grades averaged out to about a C-.

Which was an A+ by Sarah's standards.

Cameron, currently filing her cherry red nails, blew past the teenage boy she was programmed to protect and out the front door. Behind her, Eden trailed like a little lost puppy dog. The blond-haired girl wore a pair of low-riding jeans that dragged on the floor (Cameron's) and a wrap-style top that was too loose (Sarah's, she'd bought it for a date with Andy, but...). Her hair was braided, too. He didn't have time to see if her nails were painted, but John suspected they were.

"John..." said the girl who was his daughter (it sounded bizarre, even in his thoughts.) "I-" He never knew what she would've said, because, in an instant, Cameron was back in the house, darting past him.

"Wha...?" he turned around, but she was long gone. The mechanical movements of unpacking the guns was not lost on the teenage boy. Eden didn't looked scared or worried. Rather she had that far-away, too calm expression that belonged on a lost-then-found child appearing on CNN. By now, John was used to Eden looking like this: green eyes wide, blinking too often, lips slightly parted, head tilted.

"They're here." Eden's jaw twitched. The young girl spun away from John, but he could still see her run a hand across her face. Watched how her fingers lingered on her chin - the Reese family chin that Derek had and - supposedly - Kyle did, too.

"Who?" John felt his fists clench inside the pockets of his favourite denims. He could barely stand to look at her - she was his _daughter... _John Connor turned away from the innocent-looking blonde with the terrible posture and, with a pace a few ticks past 'Walking', caught up with Cameron.

In an attached room, the den, Cameron loaded a rifle and simultaneously twirled a handgun around like a baton twirler would at a pageant show. Sarah paced around the room, fingernails digging into her chin. Derek was on the couch, cleaning a gun with an old, grey rag.

"They're here," Sarah chorused Eden's early words.

Derek added, giving a little cynical nod, "Stupid machines. Fucking everything up."

"Fucking _everything _up," Cameron repeated sagely and John was confused as to whether she was mocking the elder Reese brother or being sincere.


	4. I: Imagination

**Disclaimer: See chapter one.**

**A/N: Thanks for everyone who put this story or alerted. _Much thanks _to my constant reviewers. This one's for you, especially _LadyKryptonite294 _and _Myxale_. Thanks.**

Chapter Four: Imagination

Cameron, along with the rest of the motley Connor crew, shot through the back entrance of their rental house. Her dark brown braids were tossed over her shoulders, bare, having pulled the pointless weight (in the form of a baby pink pullover) off minutes earlier. She imagined, as much as machines _could _imagine, that had she been human, her adrenaline would've been pumping. Off the charts high.

She cocked the gun, barely bothering with the silly things Sarah had instilled in her: stealth, silence, fitting in. What would Kacey do if she saw the Connors exiting their own house in such a way, guns raised and all? Call the cops? Even _John _could take down the pathetic local PD and he wasn't halfway finished his training. Cameron's 'training' was programmed. As natural as breathing for some.

John was behind her and she could hear him whispering something. She couldn't tell to whom, though. Sarah? Eden? Derek, even? Or himself. She'd heard humans sometimes did that. Talk to themselves. And by 'heard,' of course she meant on TV. Especially on those silly prime time programs where happiness always begun and ended with the opposite sex. Cameron loved the shows - as much as she knew how. She spent hours, doing nothing really, as she became engrossed in the world of upper-crust socialites with "more money than brains," as Derek claimed once, in passing.

John never watched with her. No one did. But that was okay. She liked being alone. At nighttime, when sleep just wouldn't come no matter how many times she squinted her eyes closed or how many eye masks she nicked from the dollar store, she remembered. She'd once, in 1999, told John and Sarah that they couldn't bring anything with them in time travel. That was an outright lie. Sure, it was true that you couldn't exactly bring your mittens if it was cold or pack a ham sandwich, but you could always take your memories. As far as she knew, time travel did nothing to the mind.

"Hi, Cameron," Eden mumbled. She stepped in time with Cameron.

"Hi." Cameron didn't look at the young girl at her side. She couldn't stop the onslaught of thoughts, memories plaguing her. _Focus, _she told herself, like she imagined Sarah would tell John. "Eden."

"Is it always like this?" Eyes wide, the lithe blonde let her pace quicken. Machines didn't exactly enjoy slow walks along the beachfront. Especially not when even less friendly machines were on their tails.

"Yes," she answered plainly. "No matter where we go."

"Huh," the girl thought aloud. Cameron doesn't need to look to know Eden's facial expression. From the moment her Glock was poised to blast the girl's (_John's offspring, _she mentally corrected) brains out, Eden Connor's expression had not changed. Same deer-caught-in-headlights eyes, same parted lips, same washed-up complexion. You wouldn't even need a photographic memory or Skynet's futuristic drool-worthy hardware to remember that.

Cameron sped up.

"Derek," she intoned, momentarily locking eyes with the elder Reese brother. "We've got to go _now. _Emergency manoeuvre four?"

Brusquely, the tall, broad-shouldered man nodded. He looked disgusted with her though and quickly his sea-coloured eyes darted away, finding Sarah placing a motherly hand on John's shoulder. He watched as the teenager shrugged it off.

Cameron nodded too and she also let her dark eyes watch as the latest battle unfolded between mother and son. Sarah wrung her hands; prepped for battle, more likely. No one was quite sure which war was waging inside her heart, her mind, behind her clouded eyes, just then. Was it the fight to stop Skynet? Save the world? Or the more personal battle, the one with her son and his teenage angst?

"John," Sarah sighed. Her long legs pounded the pavement as she slow-jogged to catch up to the natural-born athlete. "Let's talk about this."

His eyes rolled in perfect circles. "Oh, so _now _you want to talk," he mumbled.

Her eyebrows knitted. "When have I not wanted to talk to you?"

"Um, like, two days ago? 'John, I do not want to talk to you right now, go to your room,' sound familiar?"

Cameron didn't get the chance to log Sarah's response. The telltale sounds of the steel-toed boots favoured by Terminators pounded against the city sidewalk. Her impeccable hearing picked it up. She tuned out Derek's whispered commands and discreetly instructed John to keep his head down and his ears open. Future John told her that, and his pseudo-army, often.

Eden, looking suitably scared and distant, pulled a small, feminine handgun from a holster no one knew she wore. The long, flowing fabric of Sarah's old top kept it hidden. Eden was quite the sharp-shooter. Everyone said she got it from her father, though she wasn't sure. She barely saw the man. As she wasn't part of his inner circle, one of his confidantes, she was treated like any other resistance fighter. Well, she got treated a little bit more delicately. Like the best china plate in the cabinet.

"Can you even use that thing?" Derek half-snarled.

She looked up, green eyes flashing. "Dare me?"

He backed off.

Sarah didn't comment, although she was more than willing to. Derek needed to play by their rules. Eden was a guest, same as him. Even if she was an odd little girl, she still deserved a shred of decency from the stubborn Reese man.

That was when they heard gunshots. Multiples, as was the Terminator way.

Cameron stood up. "It's done, over."

Eden followed suite, twirling her gun around her forefinger. "Never." She clasped her hands behind her back and looked at Sarah, her grandmother, meaningfully. "And now we can't go back there."

"She's right," Derek admitted. "Machines know the place now."

"Moving?" John's nose wrinkled at the idea. Sarah swore she saw Cameron roll her eyes (_Seriously?_).

"Yes." Sarah slowly raised her brunette head. She wondered who had taken the fall this time. A woman, a child? How many people would have to die _- be murdered - _before someone, anyone would notice the body count? "It's the only thing to do."


End file.
